Bless the

time between

the loves

each of

us has

seen,



like little

windows peeking

into our

adolescent souls.



thousand miles

apart I am still

certain in

different times

in our lives

we dreamt the

same dreams

that we

held love

as a partner

tight under

blankets of

lust and

passion in

the same

light.



And in

that way

we were

partners too.



wishing upon

the same

stars kneeling

to the same

moon.



holding love

tight with

all of our

might.



somewhere

between wayward

dreams,



where we

cried all of

our tears,

and embraced

all of our

joys.



and you

were a

picture in

my heart



that I

knew I

would never

meet,



but somehow

I knew

in the

thousand

nights to

whisper.



yes I love

you too.

You traitor,

black haired

pirate

to my

heart,

leaving my

soul empty

blue,

blind to

even faith.


and it is

going to

be a day

that I

must say no

to the

morning.

sky looking

to spit over

these colonial

hills and

memories

of you.


that lie

like a raggedy Anne

doll with a

black cold

dead expression

upon it's

face.

now standing

next to

this iron

laid railroad

line.


I will lose

myself

again

in you,


in the  

next beggar's

town that this

track

will carry

me to.

unraveling

before my

eyes ,


in this

tangled yarn

kind of day.

Salt and
pepper
clouds begin
circling
overhead,

wind slithering
through the
grass deep

and ominous
like a serpent

spreading sin.

red leaves
brown leaves

in this

solstice

afternoon
burning
hot and

and then

hotter,

then falling
to the
ground
exhausted.

summer
scratching
at my
window
sills,

cracking paint

fading all

color to

white,

regret
taking
hold of
my tired
bones,

and throwing

them away

like day old

left overs

from a

funeral"s

wake.

my breath
shallows
uncertain

as if the
next one
might never
come.

sorrow a
shredded bed
I lay my
soul within.

no rest

for a love
that  dies

alone..

Put my

head on your

belly and

;let us

lie under

the grace of

this Christian

sky of blue.



Piece with

me all

of the wonders

and circumstance

and tell

me how this

life has

made you

you.



and I will

laugh and

celebrate and

dance through

your heavenly

journey.



and your

voice will

be a river

for me

to glide

upon,



and your

hand will

be a rudder

to guide

my way,



to these

places of

you that

you have

offered few.



your words

like black and white

pearls you

birth to

me and

the depth

of your eyes

is a great

ocean to

dream upon.



I the pauper

you the

music for

all to hear.



and in

this universe,



in the wink

of an eye



you are

everything.

A gift .


these simple

poems

for you

to wrap

around your

dreams under

siren night,

these humble

words

and open

thoughts,

of admiration

and toasts

to glorious

days.

to dance

in your

honesty

and deep

kiss your

passion

words,

and I will

always be

so much the

richer for it.

give me

the pearls

of your

whispers

so I

may dance

with you,

and linger

forever in

your stories,

it is

in your

eyes that

time has

blessed you

most,

forever in love

and forever

again,

in the

joy of

a blessed

heart.

I am here.

Living in

her shadow

over forty

years have

gone by.


But I still

remember

her **** rule

as if It

were yesterday.


Mrs. Satterfield.

my fourth grade

teacher

at Lincoln

elementary

in Lynwood California.

.
and every

now and

then when

I think about

her. I feel

a need

to straighten up

my posture,

turn in

all of my homework

on top

her cracked

and peeling old

wooden desk.


spit out

my gum.

and look

to the

nearest

clock,


and count the

minutes until

lunch or

when I

get my release

to go home.


"no

gum chewing

allowed!" I'm

certain

it is on

her head stone

somewhere.


but I am still

much too

afraid to

go on

a little

escapade  

to look.


so I sit

still.

very still.

waiting for the

bells of

independence.

from Mrs. Satterfield"s

fourth grade

class to ring

in my head.


sometimes it is

almost like

I never

left.


sometimes

I can see

her looking at

me from across

the room.


and sometimes

forty years

later, bless

her soul


she smiles.

Her sun

dried belly

stirred under

the morning

covers.


as I

leave our

bed,


her favorite

dark chocolate

wrappers

crinkled beneath

my feet,


as I crossed

the floor.


half filled

glasses of

*** lie

slain

on our

bedroom

nightstand


testimonies

to our

time and

dreams well

spent together.


no names

exchanged.


no ****** or

emotional

scares,


it was a mutual

midnight negotiation

based on

the one

reality that

last night

neither one

of us wanted

to go

home alone.


we were

pirates of

sorts.

living and

loving through

desperate

times.

conquests

and surrenders,



sometimes you

just can't

tell the difference

between the

two.


and other

times it

hits

you naked

right

between

your eyes.